Lost in Thoughts
by pk-angel
Summary: Life after Lost in Translation finds Bob and Charlotte again.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story because this all belongs to Sophia Coppola, I worship the ground she walks on because she IS A GENIUS. Besides I'm poor…so please don't sue. NO profit is made off of this.

Note: This first chapter is a little bit thoughtful…it'll be filled with more action stuff later

Summary: Charlotte and Bob have just parted ways, but goodbye is never forever.

Rating: I guess PG for now? It may get higher ratings if I decide to continue.

Lost in Thoughts

By pkangel

Her head bobbed lightly to the mellow beats drumming in from the massive headphones. This was how it was lately. She would put them on and fall into a trance, a steady and endless melodies of daydreams, composed of mainly jazzy notes.

The people who knew her or simply meet her once called her mellow and she was never one to disagree with that. She would like to believe that she was just bottling up her passion for something worthwhile. And in one giant explosion she would give it all, whatever it was. Then she would be a dormant volcano waiting for a catalyst. But the great Charlotte would always fall victim to logic and reason. It was a much safer haven then reckless passion. Besides, in all her years she has never discovered a catalyst powerful enough…to wake her up.

Her eyes fell on her husband and his sleeping form. It would have been a tender image if it wasn't punctuated by the loud snoring. Her forehead crinkled into a frown. It should have been him that she was waiting for. Her personal catalyst. In the beginning, she had naively hoped this was the case.

It was a confusing time. In between her studies and the awkward social adjustment each young adult had to make, she had met him. His scruffy hair and slightly awkward speech patterns were endearing. He had stuttered his way into her life, wooing her until she found herself thinking that perhaps what she feeling was love. Or was it? Could it have been flattery? Was she simply flattered that he had taken interest in her. No, that couldn't have been it. She had been in enough relationships and proposed to enough time to realize that she was not one easily flattered. But when he proposed, she had answered yes.

And when the priest asked something along the lines of, "Do you take this man to love for all eternity," she had answered yes. Even though she wanted to say, "To feel affection towards for all eternity…yes." Love, what was that? It sounded too intense, too "Hallmark"-like to sound real. It was something to post at the end of a letter. Love, Charlotte. I.E. Remember that I care about you perhaps more than those I enclosed Sincerely, Charlotte to. Etc. Etc. Charlotte thumbed her lips absently. Perhaps, she thought, the people who coined the term love didn't know what it included. How could they? People are so inefficient at communicating.

Suddenly she was aware that there was no more music. The CD had finished its round and she had forgotten to press repeat. She shivered. It's cold in this room and it didn't help that she was in her usual night gear: colored panties, white tank top, and a sweater.

Sighing, she picked herself up from the floor and she groaned when her body had to readjust to standing up. Argh! One of her legs was asleep and something that was a mix between numbness, pain, and prickling began to make itself known. Damn! Charlotte had to haul herself to the window and slam it down. She proceeded to rub her legs till circulation returned. She gave up and dragged herself to the bed. She stood there for and gazed down at her husband. Shadows caused by the moonlight bleeding through the blinds draped her face…Time. Time was their enemy. She had thought it would've been a blessing to spend more time with her husband and finally know him more. She wanted to will herself to be his soul mate through time. But, much to her dismay, she had found herself drifting from him. Like an irreparable rift, she had watched the divide grow until she found herself sleeping next to a stranger. Yet, she found so much affection still inside herself.

Her eyes drifted close and she slowly lowered herself to her husband's side. She shrugged off her pesky sweater and snuggled closer to him. She wanted to feel him around her and reassured her that he wasn't a stranger. No pesky sweaters. "John," she wisply breathed out as her arms encircled his waist. He made some incomprehensible sounds and wrapped his arms around her. Cold. His arms were freezing because they weren't covered by blankets early. But human contact was still nice.

No, it wasn't passion she ever desired for. That was too much, Charlotte decided. It would drown out the real. All she wanted was understanding. Charlotte's mind decided to check out. Before she did she reminded herself, "Better e-mail Bob tomorrow, wonder if it noon in America yet?"

Author's note: It's been so long since I've written again. I'm sorry if I haven't been working on my "Only in Memories" fic. It's because I lost my muse for that. I will find it again when I replay FFX. In the meantime, Sophia Coppola's masterpiece has been playing in my head too much to ignore. So I bring you, life after Lost in Translation. Please R and R.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story because this all belongs to Sophia Coppola, I worship the ground she walks on because she IS A GENIUS. Besides I'm poor…so please don't sue. NO profit is made off of this.

Note: This first chapter is a little bit thoughtful…it'll be filled with more action stuff later

Summary: Charlotte and Bob have just parted ways, but goodbye is never forever.

Rating: I guess PG for now? It may get higher ratings if I decide to continue.

Lost in Thoughts

By pkangel

It was hard. The string twists this way and that way. And you were expected to place it in between the small crevices of your teeth. Goddamn, who the hell invented floss anyway.

Bob sighed, as his mind sorted through the various ways floss can make the start of your day a nightmare. It was time consuming for one thing. But he weighed this against the time it would take to get a root canal and they more or less…evened out. One was less painful. Bob considered himself a simple man, and simple men do not handle pain very well. But then again, simple men simply weren't patient.

Still, no matter how much Bob despised it, he would endure it. Everyday, at exactly this moment, no matter what he was engaged in beforehand, he would find his hands tangled in floss. Endurance, he thought sardonically, he was good at that. So good…that he even scared himself.

The floss had come to be filed under the category of daily routines. And as such, these things, like fine points on a list, were endure without fail. They had hummed, like a monotonous drone, and mentally filed itself neatly into his head. So now, he didn't even have to think. No sir, no thinking required here. If he wanted too, he could live rest of his life without really pausing to consider…anything, excluding his children and sometimes his wife. But they too began to buzz once in a while and blend into that dreadful monotonous mental drone. "She didn't drone though," Bob thought wistfully of a friend, who was hopefully asleep on the other side of the world. And then the world began to blur, and his eyes lost the focus his youth once ensured. Not that he was going blind, mind you. Bob had 20/20 vision. He just had nothing to focus on. Everything was in a blissful haze. It's sort of like a buzz brought on by alcohol.

Every once in a while though, Bob broke out of his trance and he thought. When he did, the world seemed out of place. Something always manages to bother him. It heightened his senses to the point of painful annoyance. This was the hangover.

Today, it was the dripping water from the facet he swore he turned off. He looked down as the water drop seemed to magnify and slowly collect on the facet's edge. Seconds became like minutes to him as a single water drop gained in weight until, heaving from it self and the influence of gravity, it fell to the surface of the porcelain sink like an atomic bomb. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Didn't I turn you off?"

Drip. Drip. Bob shrugged, "I guessed I didn't." Another sigh, then he reached for the knobs and tightened it so hard that his knuckles turned white. There. His eyes focused on the tiny water drop collecting slowly again on the facet. It was mocking him, threatening to fall.

"Don't you dare."

Collect…Bob stared…heavier…Bob glared…heavy…Bob frowned…and finally…drip. Bob rolled his eyes in defeat before proceeding to secure the facet again. This time would be the last…for now.

And then there was silence. That impenetrable silence; so thick it would've suffocated most. But Bob was used to it. Just another thing to file under that daily happenings folder. Bob paused in his flossing, "Thick with what, I wonder." Another shrug and then…he realized that the facet had stop dripping. No more sounds. And his mind began to fill the soundless void with humming drones. So…routine.

In an urgency rarely shown these dreary days, he reached down and turned on the facet. The water flowed, cascading from its magnificent height. The rumbling splashes gracefully silence Bob's drones. He supposed he was thankful for that.

Three, two…

As he rinses his mouth he mentally counts down. At one, his wife knocks on the door and loudly asks, "Bob! Are you done in there yet? Hurry up. The rest of us have to start our day too, you know."

He spits out the rinse, "Almost done…honey." He adds for good measure. Nowadays, he wasn't sure if he was suppose to call her by Lydia, wife, or sugar-coated nicknames. Whichever matched the occasion, he guessed.

Bob splashes the cool water one last time on his face. His eyes involuntarily meet his reflection. Again, some great annoyance. How many wrinkles were there exactly? And when did he lose so much hair? In such volume? What about his eyes? No luster, no shine. Where did they go along with his youth? He sighed. Unlike the facet, this annoyance couldn't be fixed with a simple twist of the hand.

Defeated, Bob retreated to a rare optimistic thought, "At least my hair is still brown."

He closed his eyes and retreated further till he saw the deepest recesses of his heart. Strangely enough, he found nothing of acting, family, or people. Instead, brightly light neon lights flashed like sirens in his head.

_Odd, I must have forgot to leave that in Tokyo._

Suddenly, he felt alive. The colors were so vivid. The air was so cool as it wormed its way in his jacket and nipped at him. He had felt so real. So full of substance, it was a wonder he could contain it all in one place. And he felt real now, remembering it.

_Which street was I on?_

And then he realized that it didn't matter. The names were all so foreign, as if it was recalled from some mythical place. But it wasn't. It did exist…thankfully. And it was as substantial as his pulse is still beating, as his heart is still whole. That beating. It reminded him of the drums on the arcade machines as she led him by the hands running by the row of people. Blurs filled with energy. How warm they must have been. He could have sworn he could still feel them holding his. He could still sense the adrenaline and the aura that surrounded them. Such headiness. And those drums, that seemed so insignificant back then, were surprising beating so loudly now.

Knock. Knock. "Bob?"

He snapped out of his reverie with one word on his mind, "Lydia."

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm finished." He quickly dried his face and opened the door.

Lydia quickly greeted him with a frown of disapproval, "I thought you'd died in there."

"Yeah. Too bad I didn't, huh?"

She didn't like his tone, so dead, even if it was morning. So she snapped back, "Don't answer like that. It's not funny, you know."

Bob rolled his eyes. Death was never funny, was it?

Lydia pushed her way passed him to get to the bathroom. She looked back at him before he left the room, "Give the kids their breakfast, ok?"

Bob sighed and turned back, "What? Didn't you do it?"

"Today's Wednesday, remember? It's your turn today. I didn't skip on Monday last week and I was sick."

"But…" What Bob had wanted to say was that he was in Tokyo. How could he have flown back to give the kids their breakfast? But he decided it was wiser to hold his tongue and accept defeat in this battle. Mentally he was racking up points for how many arguments he has won. So far, Lydia had managed to win 85 of all the arguments. The other 10 were defaults. In other words, they were compromises.

_How many battles do I have to lose before I could win the war?_

Defeated he trudged downstairs and made breakfast.

"Kids! Food! Get them while it's hot."

Brian stumbled to him and glared up at his father, "Dad, this is cereal."

"So? It was hot a while ago before I added the milk. Now eat before I have to resort to useless threats and stuff that you know would only add to your misery and my time."

Bob always hated this part. The rounding up of the kids. The KIDS of course. They were one collective entity. He gave up.

"Brian, get your sisters and make them eat."

Brian pouted, "But I don't wanna! Why don't you do it?"

"Because, I'm going to check my e-mail."

"You can check it later."

"No I will check it now. And you will do as I say or else…"

Brain frowned, "Or else what?"

"Or else…you fill in the blanks. But whatever it is you don't want to find out. Now go."

Brian shrugged. He's given up on knowing his old man a long time ago and went in search of his missing sisters. Bob let out a sigh of relief for a change and headed for his study.

_Finally. Some peace._

He turned on his computer and glared at it wondering why these things weren't voice operated yet. His study was still dark except for the blue light of the screen. He was too lazy to drawn the shades back to let some light in. But what's the point when you're only going to close them again. It was better this way. There was an atmosphere of elegance and dreariness that suited Bob with this lighting.

_E-mail. E-mail. Ah. Here it is._

He clicked it open and read it aloud while scanning the words, "Are you awake?"

Author's Notes: This is kinda long. I wanted to really established Bob's mood and thoughts before I delved in. I hope this was ok. Please R and R. Any response will be welcome. In the meantime…I will go to sleep PEACE EASY!


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Lost in Thoughts

Author: pk_angel

Rating: PG

Fandom: Lost in Translation

Disclaimer: Property of the one and only: Sophia Coppola. I'm poor, so don't sue since no profit is being made off of this.

Summary: Charlotte and Bob have just parted way, but goodbye isn't always forever…

**Chapter 3**

It's been nearly a week since Bob had written back, and correspondence continued daily in small writings and quick quips here and there. Charlotte wondered if she could suggest taking their electronic conversations 'real-time' via chat programs like Msn Messenger...or Skype even. But the thought came and went; besides, for now, this was enough—this interaction, however limited, helped her cope. And it was nice…

Yes.

Charlotte decided it was nice—to have someone like Bob to confide in; he was so like her. The conversations flowed like water: easy and refreshing, and she never ceased wanting to drink from it.

Bob, who was so far away; literally an ocean and time zone away. Yet every time she opened her e-mail, that distance shrank.

Charlotte hesitated to use the word 'safe,' with all its cheesy connotations, but nothing else seemed to fit. Bob made her feel safe; safe enough to open her thoughts, her feelings—her heart, to him; like, for first time, it was okay to have this feeling: to be vulnerable.

***

The laptop was open with its green power switch 'on'...

So why? Why was she hesitating?

Charlotte let out a long sigh before she slumped into her chair. She guessed that it didn't seem right to start yet another email with complaints. How could she tell him that she was just about ready to throw herself into bed to sleep the rest of the week off? _John had left—work, of course_

_She recalled that last image of him rushing out the door, tie in his mouth; what might've made an endearing image (he looked cute) had it not made her so sad—what, with him holding his suitcase and all. _

"_John, I'll be fine by myself. Really," she said then, mouthing words of reassurance as if by rote; and she'd almost convinced herself. Almost._

The calendar on the table was marked. The following Sunday circled in bright red marker, and scribbled somewhere, in barely legible penmanship: John back.

And she would wait, anticipating the days; there was today, then tomorrow…and the day following…and the day after that…

John always seemed to be missing.

What's worst: she always seemed to be missing him…

She clicked her mouse over her inbox--there wasn't really anything else to do and she delayed long enough. And there, waiting for her like a well-worn friend, was an email from Bob. Her eyes skimmed the message and Charlotte found herself smiling despite herself. The gist of it was summed up in one line: _You should get out more. _

Did Bob have some sort of mental telepathy? And she wondered if he could see her now; clad in yesterday's sleepwear, hair unwashed. It was already two in the afternoon and she had lunch ordered in.

***

Charlotte glanced over a long aisle of manga books; her eyes meeting a shy and awkward glance away—that of a Japanese man, who upon getting caught staring, averted his gaze underneath his thick glasses and shuffled, as inconspicuously as possible, to the next bookshelf—his back to her. She hadn't failed to notice how the makeup of the room: a 99% male occupancy rate, but that only served as a source of amusement as she strayed from aisle to aisle.

How she ended up here was anybody's guess. After she showered and cleaned up, she found herself traveling, with a map and no set destination in mind, to here--Akihabara; whereupon she entered a smoky arcade center of one of the tall buildings. But she had wandered further down (curiosity be damned); much, much lower down. And, hidden in the basement like some dirty little secret, was this gem of a find: a seedy adult manga store.

And, despite some initial reservation, she stayed--much to the dismay of the other customers.

She looked over to the cashiers; the only other women here besides herself; and briefly contemplated how they might've felt being surrounded by men who get worked up over these wide-eyed and big-breasted anime girls.

_Some porn…_she considered with a small chuckle; and the books here didn't leave much to the imagination. There was just something slightly weird at the thought of getting off to what was essentially cartoon smut and drawn women with comically exaggerated body parts. Without a second thought, she grabbed a book from the weirder S and M selection of the store, and walked to the cashier for a purchase. A bizarre souvenir of sorts; something she and John could laugh about when he returns.

And she left the building with a feeling of mild relief. While she smoked somewhat frequently, _that much_ smoke was suffocating.

***

There was no alarm to wake her; just that natural 'click' in her brain that switch on when sunlight came as a cascade through the window. Charlotte sighed and snuggled closer to where her husband would've lain and grabbed his pillow; nuzzling her face in it and breathing whatever scent remained of him. _Just a few more minutes, _she told herself. She would toast for just a while longer before brushing her teeth: yesterday had bought a surprising amount of contentment; and she could still remember the feeling of dropping onto her hotel bed, shrugging off her shoes and wrapping herself the soft warmth of the blanket which enclosed her now.

She didn't need to look out the window to know that from her view, high above the streets below, she could see the throngs of people going to and fro, going everywhere—in every imaginable direction; active and alive and so numerous they moved like ants with lines stretching out endlessly.

And it hit her: how silly it was for her to feel alone in a place like this. She felt a jolt; that sudden and overwhelming urge to go down there and join them.

Bob's words, after all, still rung fresh in her mind: '_You're not alone.'_

So she cleaned, washed up, before she grabbed her coat and headed out the door---the air conditioner of the room was still on and humming when she made her way to the nearest train station. She'll get on, she decided, and get off wherever the train took her; and it would be alright to be lost for a few hours; because she knew that—eventually—she would find her way back.

***

The sound of keys being inserted and the knob turning—all that indicated that the room's occupant had returned; and Charlotte entered hauling along several heavy shopping bags. She had somehow managed to make it back with them in tow from Harajuku, the infamous shopping headquarters of Japan. And she dropped the bags haphazardly on the floor while she huffed and locked the door behind her. Clothing was momentarily forgotten as she opted for water; going to the fridge and grabbing a bottle out before draining a third of its content.

_Shopping, shopping, shopping…_

As a matter of habit, and because she didn't want it to be quiet for so long, she grabbed the remote on the bed and turned on the T.V. The place warmed instantly—feeling a bit more like home with noise in the background. Charlotte ignored the Japanese MTV promos and went to the discarded mound of shopping bags; her kill for the day. And she rummaged through: _Where was it? Where was it again? Oh…here it is…_

She smiled, happy, as she pulled out a beautiful red sweater; holding it up and inspecting it more closely in the privacy of her room. Her fingers felt through the cotton knitting before she walked over to the mirror to try it on. And it fitted perfectly, molding skin to skin and hugging to her form; a little too perfectly, and Charlotte worried that it would shrink to an un-wearable size should she wash it. But for now, it was perfect. The color of it was a striking contrast to the paleness of her skin.

Charlotte took a moment to walk around the room to just luxuriate in how she felt in the sweater: confident; sexy; so very her…

Satisfied, she sat down and opened her laptop, interlacing and stretching her fingers as she waited for the system to boot up. Time again to peruse through updates on Bob's life: today there was his daughter's ballet recital, complete with an email attachment—a photo of her on stage. He wrote, "_Days like this make everything else worth while."_

And Charlotte could understand why.

A thought---she grabbed the camera near her and snapped a photo of herself; then uploaded it to the computer. What a perfect way to send a reply email. Attachment complete.

_Bob,_

_Your daughter is so cute. Maybe I could meet her sometime when I get back to the states. _

She went on to write about Harajuku with all the minor details—until she painted a portrait of it with her words, adding:

_We should've gone there when you were still here. You know, get you something to distract from that awful haircut of yours. Just kidding. The haircut suits you. Very mature. _

_You were right about getting out more often. There's so much good that the world has to offer. Like this awesome sweater I got at a bargain price. What do you think? Not too showy, right?_

The phone rang, disrupting her flow of writing. She stopped and frowned; no one ever called the hotel's phone but Bob—she had a pre-paid cell phone if anyone needed to reach her (not that it was used a lot since she purchased it).

After the third ring, she picked up: "Hello?"

…

"John?! What?"

Her eyes widen in surprise; and a smile came over her when he said, "Honey, I'll be back tomorrow. Things ended early."

And she was happy.

Genuinely happy.

So much so that it surprised her—how happy she actually was….

"What do you wanna do tomorrow?" he asked, getting ahead of himself; he was still miles away from where she was, but making plans like this seemed right.

And Charlotte couldn't tell exactly why, but at that moment, all she could see was Bob in his bright, bright red-orange t-shirt, holding a mic in his hand and singing, off-key…

What was that song?

_More than this? Tell me one thing—more than this._

She wanted to tell him then--in that dim room occupied with several other people (strangers, really)—that on that night, with the ridiculous pink wig on her head, she realized that there was really nothing _more than this. _

That _this_ was it.

"Let's go karaoke," Charlotte said; humming the tune slightly in her head; she can still hear the music.

**Notes:**

I had no idea that people still read fics so long after the date they're published. Usually, with fanfics, you get your big hits the first few days after you start, then it dwindles. But the subject of _Lost in Translation, _like themovie, is just one of those things you can just return to—time and time again—and it'll stay with you. Needless to say, it's been years since, but I'm still in love with it.

Thank you to Gwyneth, Ester, and Jessi—for reviewing my fic . If you liked it, do leave more reviews as I enjoy reading them. You guys spurred me to write this chapter.


End file.
